


The Things That Matter

by puremarvelfeels



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Based on a Tumblr Post, Best Friends, Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Bucky barnes' metal arm, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insults, Lecturing, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Platonic Love, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Read with care, mentions of pre-serum steve rogers, sorry this gets kinda rough and graphic, steve rogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-16 07:56:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11249439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puremarvelfeels/pseuds/puremarvelfeels
Summary: Natasha tells Bucky about all the dumb stunts Stevie has pulled.  Bucky has a few choice words to say about them, prompting a long discussion and a lot of feels.





	The Things That Matter

Steve enters the Avengers’ shared floor, dropping the grocery bags on the counter and starting to put stuff in the fridge where it belongs.

“Hello, Steve.”

Steve turns at the familiar voice to see Natasha sitting at the dining room table. Bucky is standing just behind her, and it looks like they’ve been having a conversation. There’s a piece of paper taped to the non-glass portion of the wall, and Buck has three knives that he keeps throwing at it. The center of the paper is torn to ribbons.

It was Bucky who greeted him thus, cool tone sending a chill down Steve’s spine. James Barnes in Brooklyn had been known for being somewhat volatile when angry, and anger is the primary emotion currently radiating from Bucky. Now that Bucky’s been…Steve hates to use the word broken, but that’s kind of what happened—he’s grown significantly more volatile since that.

Natasha, however, doesn’t look worried. She sits comfortably in the chair, slicing up an apple with a four-inch switchblade and smirking at Steve like she knows something he doesn’t.

Steve is not really prepared to deal with the two scariest people he knows acting like this.

Bucky removes all three knives from the wall and replaces them in their proper holsters before approaching Steve. His metal hand encircles Steve’s elbow in a grip that Steve is sure will tighten if he tries to struggle. Steve stays still and tries to act calm.

Bucky turns to Natasha rather than saying anything to Steve. “I apologize, Natalia, but if you’ll excuse me, I believe I must have a word with my friend.” The tone of his voice is neither apologetic nor friendly.

Natasha smiles toward Bucky. “Of course.” Then her grin turns to Steve, and he shudders under it. It’s her look that says someone is about to regret every bad thing he’s ever done.

Bucky drags Stevie up all the flights of stairs to his floor, not saying anything. His feet pound on the floor, each footstep like an exclamation point. Steve is pale with fear. Bucky hasn’t been back to—well, to being Bucky—for more than a week or so. Is this a relapse back into Winter Soldier mode?

Once on Steve’s floor, Bucky shoves Steve down onto the sofa and stands menacingly in front of him.

“Steven Grant Rogers, you are the biggest idiot in this entire world.”

Steve doesn’t really have anything to say in response to that. 

Not that it matters, because Bucky doesn’t intend to let him respond. “I died and you dropped a plane in the Arctic. You came back and barely ate; you didn’t take care of yourself or make friends or anything. You jumped out of a plane—without a parachute!—to avoid Natasha’s questions about your love life. You took off your helmet to fight a single stinking sailor who was deliberately goading you into being vulnerable. And on top of it all, you fought m—you fought the Winter Soldier and you looked him in the eyes and dropped your shield.”

Steve sits still, listening to Bucky’s rant, a torrent of words flowing in one ear and out the other as Bucky continues detailing his follies and berating him.

“What in God’s good earth have you been thinking, Stevie? Did your common sense fall off that train with me? Did you forget everything I did for you in Brooklyn to keep you alive and running? Don’t tell me that didn’t matter. Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid until I got back? You dumb punk, Stevie; I ought to tear you a new one. I could just—auuuuggghh!”

Time stands still for a few moments after Buck’s outburst of frustration.

Steve’s head rises, soft eyes pooling with liquid starlight. “…Bucky?”

Bucky’s entire posture changes. His frustration melts at the sound of his Stevie saying his name. New body, healing factor, time skip, new century, and everything else aside, the man sitting on the couch is little Stevie Rogers from Brooklyn who couldn’t live without Bucky and wouldn’t back down from a fight. Bucky could never be cruel to him.

He lets out a breath and his mismatched shoulders relax from their earlier tension. “Aw, Stevie, don’t cry.”

That was the wrong thing to say, Bucky immediately decides, as Steve launches across the room into his arms, a sob tearing out of his throat. On instinct, Buck tightens his flesh arm around the blond’s body while keeping his metal arm out of the way. Bringing that hand up to his own face, he’s surprised to feel moisture in his eyes. How long has it been since he cried? He wipes the tears away hastily and dries his hand against his pants leg.

He remembers Sarah Rogers and how she always took care of Stevie. Whether it was a nightmare, an illness, or another beating in yet another alleyway or parking lot, Sarah always held Stevie close and rubbed a hand up and down his back until Steve’s tears were gone.

He reaches out with his left hand, then automatically withdraws it. Should he? No, his therapist has been saying he needs to get more used to treating it like any other normal limb. So, he wraps his metal arm protectively around Stevie and starts to rub up and down his spine.

Something inside him that’s been missing clicks into place. It feels like the best punch to the gut he’s ever had, and his face is wet and Steve’s hands clutch at his shirt and that makes both of them cry harder. Tears spill from their eyes, tears that have waited seventy years to splash across that soft red sweatshirt and drip over the scarring on Bucky’s metal shoulder. 

If only Hydra could see this now. The metal arm they designed for killing is gently massaging Captain America’s back as he sobs into the chest of Hydra’s Asset. The world falls away as tears flow from both men’s eyes. They are not Captain America and the Winter Soldier anymore. They are Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes, best friends from Brooklyn who in the next century have finally found their way back into each other’s arms. 

Steve clings to Bucky’s side like a magnet, fisting his hands in the sweatshirt and burying his face in deep. He doesn’t care about the metal arm right now, or the serum and the brainwashing and Hydra. They have this moment, and there is nothing but them.

Bucky runs his new hand up and down Steve’s back as their bodies shake with sobs. He doesn’t care right now about the serum or the Valkyrie or the seventy frozen years. They have this moment, and nothing else matters.

Steve mumbles something into Bucky’s chest.

“What was that, punk?” Bucky asks, affectionately rubbing his shoulder.

Steve turns his head a little but refuses to look up. “I was so lost without you.”

Bucky takes a hard breath in and out. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. He chokes and starts crying again. “I’m so sorry. It was—I crashed that plane. Without you.” He tries to sniff through his running nose. “On purpose,” he sobs. His fists close even more tightly in Bucky’s shirt. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t’ve. I—I thought it was the—the end of the line.”  
His body goes limp against Bucky. He knows the attitudes they grew up with about suicide; knows how unforgivable it was and probably still is. He cries and waits for another tongue-lashing from Bucky.

It doesn’t come.

“Look at me,” Bucky orders.

Steve shrinks down, scared to look up.

“Stevie, look at me.”

Steve obeys. His eyes are red, his face is wet. His entire body shivers against Bucky in fear and shame. 

There aren’t words. Thoughts and ideas flash through Bucky’s mind. 

|You dumb punk.|   
|I’m not worth committing suicide over.|   
|I told you to stay home and look what you’ve done.|   
|That common sense definitely fell off the train with me.|   
|According to my handlers, I attempted suicide over thirty times. I don’t know why I’m alive either, pal.|   
|I don’t deserve to be alive.|   
|How are we even still here?|

Bucky doesn’t say anything like that. They have the rest of their lives to talk about those things.

They have this moment. They are all that matters.

Bucky gently runs both hands over Stevie’s quivering shoulders.

“I’m here.”


End file.
